When You Doubt a Wolf
by EternalNaga
Summary: Stiles and Derek get stuck doing a stakeout together and Stiles does what he always does best with his mouth...never stops talking.


If Stiles wasn't forced to sit in a cold car in the middle of the night with nothing but air and a moody-plus-possibly-homocidal werewolf to keep him company, then you could bet that his scrawny ass would be in bed sleeping. Because who in the hell did police stake outs at three o'clock in the morning anyways? He has to admit, it had been a little exciting at first to play detective on the new wackjob case that had come strolling into beacon hills in a hand basket. But with no coffee, no dounuts, and definitely no abnormal activity save for the naked guy who ran across the street in front of them about an hour ago, Stiles just wasn't feeling the thrill that he always got when watching those bad cop shows on tv. Judging from the always present glare on Derek's face intensifying, it didn't look like he was having such a jolly good time either.

Since Scott was the almighty-true-alpha, he apparently claimed all ring leader rights for every stinking operation they did. So, it was Scott's idea to shove Stiles and Derek into an enclosed metal space for god knows how long with nothing to do but watch the road for any baddies coming their way. It wasn't so much the fact that he was a little depressed about not ever being able to call the shots, it was that he was bummed over the fact that he had to spend his time with Mr. tall, dark, and brooding over here. Don't get him wrong, Stiles thinks that Derek's brooding is adorable-and maybe even a little sexy- but his resentment towards being here is more based off of the fact that Stiles has a huge high school crush on the dude. Like full blown, swooning, "draw me like one of your french girls" crush. Yah, it was bad. So, sticking him in a tight metal box with a werewolf who could probably smell the arousal thats practically pouring out of him like a fucking rainbow wasn't the best idea that Scott had ever had.

Stiles needed to say something, anything. And fast. The silence was literally suffocating, like it was hanging over his head on a scary thin thread, just waiting to snap and submerge him.

"So," Stiles started. He turned to Derek and gave him the friendliest smile he could muster- although he's horrifyingly sure that it turned into one of his 'rape' smiles that Scott is always warning him about.

Derek glanced over at him with a look of bored acknowledment. It wasn't the look of utterly and completely devoted attention that Stiles was hoping for- and maybe sometimes even dreamed about- but it would have to do. At least he wasn't ignoring him. Now was his chance to say something cool. Something that would make Derek think that he wasn't a complete and total loser.

"Did that guy from before have one testical or two?"

Stiles was pretty sure that he heard Derek groan before slamming his head back onto the headrest. It's almost like he wasn't expecting top notch bullshit to come spewing out of his mouth. Which was weird, considereing that was what Derek usually thought of his little talks. He even said it once or twice on a couple of occasions.

"I'm just saying, 'cause I know a guy and I was just wondering if that was him-"

"Stiles."

"It kind of looked like him."

"Stiles."

"Yes, Sourwolf?" Stiles finally ripped his eyes away from where he was staring out into the night through the windshield and instead, shifted his eyes over to the fuming hottie sitting right next to him. Stiles was about to say something to him along the lines of, 'if looks could kill' but he thought better of it. This was Derek Fucking Hale after all. Stiles was pretty sure that he could make it happen if he really wanted to. And right now, it looked like he really wanted to.

Thank god for middle consoles.

"Stop talking." Derek said with an air of finality. He also said it like that was the end of the conversation.

Stiles on the other hand, was completely fed up with not being able to finish his conversations. No matter how one sided they usually were.

"Dude, can you do anything other than bitchy? Like, maybe suprised. Hell, I'd even take constipated-"

"Stiles."

"What?"

"Shut. Up."

"Oh, exasperated bitchy. You're getting bold." Stiles grinned like the little shit that he was. Stiles thought this whole ordeal was highly amusing. Derek on the other hand, did not.

"Shut up, or I'll rip your throat out." There was a pause for dramatic effect while Derek breathed intensly through his nostrils. "With my teeth."

Stiles rolled his eyes and turned to face Derek, Indian styled legs slightly bent upward to fit in between the back of the seat and the dashboard.

"Okay, how many times have you used that threat? And how many times have you actually acted on it?"

At this, Derek seemed to snap. His breath left his nose in a harsh whistle and a vein on his forehead popped out while he grabbed Stiles by the front of his shirt. Pulling him forward and half on top of the middle console, Derek brought his face close to the teenagers neck and closed his jaw gently around the boys throat. Sharp werewolf fangs lightly scraped against pale flesh and Stiles gulped.

"Ok. Uh, point taken. You're capable. Very, very…" Stiles' voice drifted off as he felt a hot tongue pressing against his skin. "Uh, Derek," he squeaked. His breath came out in huffs and his pupils enlarged to the point where his eyes almost looked like black holes.

The werewolf gently scraped his teeth

against the teenagers neck until he brought his jaw to an almost closed position in order to lightly nip at the others throat. It was almost light enough to be called playful.

Derek pulled back with what seemed to be hesitation before meeting Stiles' eyes, two burning pits of lust to the others.

"Do you believe me now?"

Stiles snapped out of the trance-like state he was in and let out a delayed squeak. He wanted nothing more in this world than to climb on this sex gods lap and let the other have his way with him.

Damn you middle consoles.


End file.
